


turn around (and make it all right)

by cathect



Category: IT (2017)
Genre: Angst, Future-ish Fic, Hurt/Comfort (ish), M/M, Mentioned/implied child abuse, Modern AU, mentioned/implied underage sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-07
Updated: 2017-11-07
Packaged: 2019-01-30 19:15:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12659718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathect/pseuds/cathect
Summary: -Richie Tozier’s name flashes across his screen and, for what feels like an eternity, he just stares at the contact picture— it’s old, from when they were kids, but they haven’t talked in awhile so it’s not like he ever needed to change it.He finally comes to his senses and hits answer.“Richie?” He asks as he reaches over and turns on his lamp, watching his room come into view around him in the light.“Can I come over?”-or the one where richie has a nightmare and bill finally gets to confront him about the two years of heartache he caused.





	turn around (and make it all right)

**Author's Note:**

> a few notes about this fic:  
> \- this is a modern au because i needed cell phones  
> \- however, the events of "it" have still happened  
> \- so my recommendation is not putting too much thought into it in case it causes holes  
> \- i was purposefully vague about the way richie and bill grew apart  
> \- this takes place the summer after the losers' senior year; the boys are eighteen
> 
> big thank you to erin, whose compliments for this fic actually made me cry for twenty minutes.

_“And then the cold came, the dark days when fear crept into my mind. You gave me all your love and all I gave you was goodbye.”_

_— Taylor Swift_

-

Bill wakes up to his phone ringing.

He cracks open an eye to see it’s still pitch black outside. The digital clock on on the other side of the room reads 2:18am and the only light in his room is from his phone screen lighting up as it continues to ring. He lets it go to voicemail, and prays that whoever it is doesn’t call back.  
  
His phone starts ringing again and he briefly debates throwing it at the wall just to shut it up.  
  
“Alright, fuck.” He mutters mostly to himself, grabbing his phone off the nightstand and checking the caller ID. When he does, he’s almost certain he must be dreaming.  
  
Richie Tozier’s name flashes across his screen and, for what feels like an eternity, he just stares at the contact picture— it’s old, from when they were kids, but they haven’t talked in awhile so it’s not like he ever needed to change it.  
  
He finally comes to his senses and hits _answer_.  
  
“Richie?” He asks as he reaches over and turns on his lamp, watching his room come into view around him in the light.  
  
“Can I come over?”

Bill nearly chokes on his next breath. It’s been close to two years since he’s heard Richie’s voice (directed at him, at least), let alone been in the same room with him alone. There was a time when Richie spent most of his nights in Bill’s bedroom, but that was so long ago that sometimes Bill wonders if he made it all up in his head.

“Yeah,” he answers finally. He doesn’t know why he says it.

“Cool, because I’m already here.” As he says it, there’s a soft knocking on Bill’s window and Bill shakes his head. Leave it to Richie to show up unannounced after two years of radio silence.  
  
Almost as an afterthought, Bill snatches a mostly-clean tee shirt from the ground and pulls it on as he makes his way over to the window. Undoing the latches, he pushes up the pane and can’t help the smile that forms on his lips at the familiar sight of Richie perched on the big oak tree outside.

“Hey.” Bill says awkwardly as Richie moves forward slightly to rest his crossed arms on the window sill. “What’s up?”

“Oh, you know. Just hanging out.” Richie’s voice is so casual that it’s almost easy for Bill to forget how long it’s been since they last talked. “You gonna let me in, Big Bill?” Richie asks, snapping Bill out of his thoughts. Clearing his throat, he nods and takes a few steps back to give Richie some room.

Watching Richie fumble his way through the window, Bill thinks back on when they were kids and Richie used to do exactly this to escape his dad’s angry fists. He wonders, somewhat belatedly, if that’s why he’s here now, and a lump forms in his throat at the thought.

“Love what you’ve done with the place.” Richie says, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking around as Bill shuts the window.

Since the last time Richie saw it, Bill has changed his bedroom around quite a bit. He’s older now, and it’s reflected in the changes. Where there used to be a chest full of action figures and Legos, there’s a dark wood desk. The walls, once littered with Star Wars posters and pictures haphazardly thumbtacked into the plaster, are now almost completely bare and painted a calm grey-blue. The only decoration, if it can even be called that, is the framed high school diploma hanging above his desk. Neat and simple and pristine. Sometimes he misses the clutter.

Despite how long it’s been, there’s something so right about seeing Richie standing in his bedroom. A part of him screams for him to remember the last time Richie was there, to remember the heartache that followed. But then, for the first time, he gets a good look at Richie’s face.

He looks older than he should. Tired, like it’s been at least a month since he had a decent night’s sleep. There are bags under his eyes that are only accentuated by the coke bottle glasses that he still wears. But that’s not what catches Bill’s attention.  
  
“God, Richie, h-have you been crying?” Bill’s mostly mastered his stutter by now, but it still peeks through when he’s stressed out or nervous or scared or feeling any sort of strong emotion, really. And his emotions always seem to skyrocket around Richie.

Richie throws his gaze to the ground, clearly hesitant to answer.  
  
“I had a dream that it came back, Bill,” he says finally.  
  
“What are you talking about?” Bill’s still half-asleep and misses the emphasis on some of Richie’s words.  
  
“It, Bill.”  
  
Bill’s wide awake now.  
  
“It was so real,” Richie continues, eyes still focused on the carpet. “I couldn’t stop it— I couldn’t save you.”

“Me?”

“I had to see you.” Richie ignores the question, his eyes finally lifting to meet Bill’s. “Had to make sure you were okay.” Bill can’t even remember the last time he had a nightmare about It. But he knows that, when he did, they were the worst nights of his life.

But now that Bill is sure that Richie’s okay, that this has nothing to do with his dad or anything else that puts him in immediate danger, he can feel the anger bubbling in his chest— the anger he’s been pushing down since he answered the phone.

“I’m fine,” he says, voice suddenly bitter beyond his control. “Thanks for checking in.”

“Woah.” Richie holds up his hands in surrender. “You just gave me whiplash with that change in tone there, buddy.” Bill rolls his eyes, frankly exhausted by Richie’s inability to read a situation.

“It’s been at least two y-years since I’ve heard from you.” Bill says, trying (and failing) to keep venom from coating his words. “What made you decide I was worthy of you again?”

Richie’s eyes are even wider than normal behind his glasses as he processes the reason behind Bill’s sudden anger.  
  
“Don’t—“ Richie sighs, hands clenched into fists by his sides. “Don’t be like that.”  
  
“Like what?” Bill snaps back. “Hurt? Angry? Why sh-shouldn’t I be? You deserted us. You deserted me.”  
  
“I know.” Richie says and Bill doesn’t think he’s ever heard the trashmouth talk at such a low volume. “I know. And I’m sorry.”  
  
“God, Richie.” Bill shakes his head. “Two years. Sorry’s not going to cut it.”  
  
“You know, I didn’t come here to be lectured like some fucking little kid.”  
  
“Well then maybe you should have gone somewhere else.” Bill doesn’t recognize his own voice; it’s loud, angry, stern. He sounds like his father. It’s all the things he promised himself he’d never be.  
  
But this is Richie. The same Richie that hurt him, broke his heart even. He’s never really realized how much pain it caused him until he’s looking back in hindsight and watching himself.  
  
“I didn’t want to go somewhere else.” Richie says finally. “I wanted to be here.”

Bill’s heart aches.

He remembers the last time Richie was in his room before everything fell to shit. The night Bill finally muttered a pathetic _I love you_ and Richie said it back like he meant it— Bill wonders if he ever really did. The night Richie kissed him, undressed him, pressed him into the mattress with steady hands. He took him apart like he wasn’t going to do the same thing to his heart less than a month later. Like he actually felt the same way Bill did.  
  
And maybe he did, but that’s not the point.

Angry tears prick at the corners of Bill’s eyes as he remembers all the nights he waited for calls that never came, all the days he watched Richie pull away more and more until there was nothing left to pull and he was just gone. The way the others saw it happen and let him hurt alone while they healed around the hole Richie left behind.  
  
It’s all the glances in the hallway, all the never making eye contact and acting like they hadn’t been best friends for over a decade. Like they hadn’t been more. It’s Eddie unintentionally taking Richie’s place and never quite fitting. Because no matter how much Bill loves Eddie it can never be the way he loved Richie. He appreciates the effort that Eddie always put forth, but sometimes it made him feel more isolated than anything else.  
  
He remembers that most of all. The loneliness. The way it felt like it was only happening to him. But they hadn’t loved Richie like he had, so maybe it did. He doesn’t know anymore.  
  
And it’s the way Richie’s looking at him now, like he can hear every thought inside Bill’s head. Like he knows that Bill wants nothing more than to grab onto Richie and never let him go again. Like he might want that too.

“Bill?”

Richie’s taken a few steps closer, moving into Bill’s space. It’s his proximity that finally breaks the barrier. Bill chokes out an angry sob, shoving Richie’s shoulder.

“Where were you when _I_ wanted you here?” Bill cries as Richie stumbles backwards from the force. “Where _were_ you?” The moment Richie catches himself and steps forward, Bill shoves him again, harder.

“Bill— _Jesus_.” Richie whisper-yells, glancing towards Bill’s bedroom door in a way that translates into _keep it down, moron_. Bill’s tears are blurring his vision, and the lump in his throat is making it hard for him to breathe, but he doesn’t relent. He shoves Richie again. “Bill, stop.”

“Fuck you.” Bill goes to push Richie another time, but Richie steps back enough so that Bill’s hand barely hits his chest. “Fuck. You. You p-p-piece of _shit_.”

“Bill.” Richie grabs onto Bill’s wrists, not hard enough to hurt, but enough that he can’t get away. “Bill, please stop.” He pulls Bill close to his chest, wrapping his arms around his body and holding on tight.

Bill is still a good three or four inches taller than Richie, but Richie’s stronger than him and doesn’t let him pull away even though he _tries_. Instead, Richie tugs him towards the bed and sits them down, letting Bill sob into his shoulder. He’s got one hand curled around the back of Bill’s neck and Bill has Richie’s shirt balled up in both of his hands, shoving his head almost painfully into his friend’s chest.

“You— you left me.” He tugs on Richie’s shirt for emphasis. “You t-told me you loved me, and then you just _left_.”

“I know.” A drop of something warm hits the back of Bill’s neck and he realizes with a start that Richie is crying too. “I’m so sorry, Bill.”

“God, Richie that is _not_ fair.” Bill says, sitting up and swiping his hand under one of his eyes. “You don’t get to cry too.” Richie chuckles a little at his words, and Bill finds himself smiling. He wants to tell himself to stop.

“You’re right.” The hand on the back of Bill’s neck squeezes gently. “You’re right, I don’t.”

“I just w-w-w—” For the first time in a long time, Bill has to swallow an attempt at a word. He _hates_ it, hates how it feels to not be able to express himself correctly just because Richie fucking Tozier is sitting next to him. “I need to know why, Richie.”

“There’s nothing I can say that will make you feel better, Bill.” Richie finally pulls his hand away and drops it into his own lap. Bill can hear it in his voice— he’s telling the truth.

“I don’t care,” Bill says, earning a shake of Richie’s head.

“Bill—”

“I don’t care, Richie, _please_.” Bill grabs onto one of Richie’s sleeves, tugging gently. Richie sighs, closing his eyes for a second.

“I was scared,” he says quietly. “Fucking terrified, actually.”

Bill knows the feeling. They all do— _it happened to all of us_ , he doesn’t say.

“I just.” Richie pushes a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes. “I guess I thought that, if I stopped being friends with you guys, maybe I could forget it all. Maybe I could stop seeing it every time I closed my fucking eyes.”

Bill can’t help it; he reaches for Richie’s hands.

“The worst part is that it didn’t fucking help,” Richie continues, seemingly speaking more to himself than Bill at this point. “It didn’t do _anything_ except take away the only people I’ve ever actually given a fuck about.”

“We were always there.” Bill mutters. “You chose to not see that.”

“Yeah,” Richie agrees, a little indignant.

Neither of them speaks for a while after that. Bill can’t tell how much time has passed, too scared to look away to check the time— frankly, scared that if he takes his eyes off Richie, he’ll disappear again. So he just holds Richie’s hands and mulls the whole situation over in his head.

“I should go.” Richie says suddenly, and Bill is surprised by how evenly his heart is split between wanting to agree and wanting to beg him to stay.

“You d-don’t have to.” He settles, watching Richie’s eyebrows shoot up into his curls.

“No?” And Bill can tell that, for once in his life, he’s not being sarcastic. He really is waiting for Bill to tell him that it’s okay— that _this_ is okay. There’s a voice in the back of Bill’s mind that’s begging him to be smart about this, begging him to let Richie go.

But this is _Richie_ , and Bill’s never been good at watching him leave.

“Please, stay.” The words tumble out of his mouth before he really has the chance to decide if he means them.

“Bill, you don’t have to—”

“Stay.” Bill knows he means it this time, so he emphasizes the word with a squeeze of Richie’s hands. Richie just stares at him for a second before he nods.

“Okay.”

He rises from the bed, and Bill’s reluctant to let go of his hands. But Richie just kicks off his shoes and tosses his phone on the ground next to them. He glances at the bed awkwardly, waiting to be told what he’s allowed to do.

Without a word, Bill pushes back his blankets and moves over to one side of the bed to give Richie space. Richie takes the invitation and climbs in next to him.

For a while they just lie there, both caught up in their own thoughts. Bill’s a little surprised by the anger still thrumming under his skin, but he reasons that it’s only natural when faced with the one thing that’s caused you the most pain for the last major chunk of your life.

A few minutes pass where two parts of himself— one that knows how easy it would be for Richie to hurt him again, and one that desperately wants to take Richie into his arms like _rightthissecond_ — battle it out in his mind. He can’t tell who’s winning.

“I don’t want you to hurt me again.” He finally speaks, not quite to Richie but not quite to the ceiling he’s staring at either. He hears Richie swallow hard next to him.  
  
“I’m not going to hurt you, Bill.” Richie reaches for Bill’s hand as he speaks. As soon as Richie’s fingers brush against his, Bill pulls back like he’s been burned. Richie lets out a small noise of surprise, clearly confused by the regression in Bill’s attitude towards him.  
  
“How do you know?”  
  
“Because I know,” Richie whispers and, for some reason, Bill believes him.

Still, he’s hesitant, and he knows it’s obvious in everything about him as Richie watches his face, eyes burning holes into his skin.

“I’m not going to hurt you, Bill.” Richie’s hand appears on his cheek, turning his head to the side and forcing him to meet his eyes. “I promise.” Bill nods, fingers reaching up and wrapping around Richie’s wrist lightly. He doesn’t know why he does it, but something about it feels right.

Richie worries his bottom lip between his teeth and Bill’s eyes are drawn to his mouth instantly. He hopes it isn’t obvious. When his eyes flick up to meet Richie’s again, the other boy is smiling. Definitely obvious.  
  
“R-richie, I—“  
  
“Kiss me,” Richie cuts him off, stroking his thumb across Bill’s cheek.

Bill hesitates, weighs his options; but Richie’s tone is so steady, so sure, that he doesn’t really have any choice but to obey.  
  
Kissing Richie feels exactly how Bill remembers it and yet, somehow completely different. His lips are warm and soft and Bill desperately wants Richie to open his mouth so he can taste him. But he doesn’t want to take more than he’s being offered, so he pulls back to gauge Richie’s reaction to the whole thing.  
  
“Do it again,” Richie mutters before Bill even has the chance to open his eyes. He grabs onto a handful of Bill’s shirt near his stomach, like he’s looking for something to anchor himself. “Bill, kiss me again.”  
  
Bill doesn’t need any more prompting, and he slots their lips together again. Richie’s mouth falls open almost instantly, and Bill takes the opportunity to brush his tongue against the other boy’s. Richie gasps— a sound so genuine and soft that it doesn’t even sound like it could have come from him. Richie’s glasses are pressing into his face a little, but neither of them cares in the slightest. Bill slips a hand into familiar curls, and lets himself get lost for a minute.

He lets himself forget everything, decides to pretend like the last two years didn’t happen. That Richie never left his bed. That he never went a day without kissing him.

But then Bill feels fingers working at the waistband of his sweatpants and the spell breaks as he pushes Richie’s hand away.

“Richie, don’t.”

“I’m sorry.” Richie breathes, face still close enough that Bill can feel it fan over his face a little. “I’m sorry.”

“No, i-it’s okay.” Bill assures him, brushing his nose against Richie’s. “I just— it’s a lot, all at once.”

“Too much for one night.” Richie agrees quietly. He moves his hand to the side of Bill’s neck instead, kissing him again. But the magic of the moment has been lost, and they both know it. They’re both thinking too much now, and Richie is second-guessing himself.

“It’s late.” Bill whispers, mouth pressing into Richie’s cheek. The other boy nods in agreement, letting Bill take his glasses off his face gently— something he used to do when they were kids and Richie would fall asleep in any and all places. Reluctantly, Bill untangles himself so that he can turn over and place them on the nightstand next to his phone.

He has a brief moment where it doesn’t seem possible that the phone call that started this whole night only happened about an hour ago. Shaking his head, he turns the lamp off and rolls back over, instantly reaching out for Richie.

Richie melts into his hold almost immediately, one arm draping over Bill’s stomach and his forehead resting gently against the taller boy’s shoulder. It feels good— it feels _right_ — for Richie to be here again.

In the quiet, dark moments after Richie falls asleep, Bill’s heart lurches as he wonders if he’s made a huge mistake letting Richie in again. He wonders what’ll happen in the morning, in the coming days, weeks even. He wonders, for a split second, how long it’ll be before Richie gets scared and breaks his heart again.

_It’s Richie, so probably not long at all._

Bill knows he’s a fool, knows this can only end badly. He swallows the realization and pulls Richie closer to his chest. The rhythmic breathing of the boy next to him lulls him into sleep a few minutes later.

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you for reading!
> 
> please drop a comment below of what you thought! :)


End file.
